(not quite) a literary journal


Shoutout to Donya

, because I don't do it enough
It's easy to take for granted the people you love
I love you, baby. Don't need an occasion
Valentine's Day, anniversaries, all that shit
make mockery of you and me, of what we got
, and I don't doubt that
this is what Aristophanes was talking about
Soul meets soul shit, Adam & Eve fit
Don't expect me to accurately explain it
Never the words, but what drives the Poet
to pad and paper or something electronic
, and pour out some romantic bullshit
Read it and proclaim, “THIS. IS. IT.”
That's what I got—how you make me feel
I feel therefore I'm real
You are who I am
We're an institution 
A sovereign nation
with values and laws 
that might differ from y'all's
, but they work for us
So, please don't be an imperialist 
Our defense is strong, and we
punish trespassers, medievally:
crucifixion, impalement, guillotine, 
hanged, drawn, and quartered 
Never mind public shaming
all about public torture 
That's how we are, but
if you come with love
we'll give as much back as
we do harm to those who attack
On some Me & My Bitch shit
You do not have to get it
This is our ideology 
Its form will die with us
, but our essence
is fire, baby. We ate
Rome, baby—
AD 64, but we've
been around since
before that. I love you
from then and back
      , and when you say 
you love me—
I feel like

Stephen R. Spencer II

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art by Stephen II

art by Stephen II